


denying what you want from me (talk to me baby)

by harperuth



Series: (with you) i got to get bolder [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dissociation, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, full warnings for tyrest being awful, hinted processor modification, mentions of past trauma, minimus continues to frag the armor, this time rung is in the room, unfortunately this has started to develop some kind of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25130575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperuth/pseuds/harperuth
Summary: “What’s the first step of your maintenance?” Rung straightened up, just a tad. Enough to pull his shoulder joints back and highlight the transteel exposing his spark.“A rinse in the washracks,” Minimus said before he could process the text string.“Get in the washrack,” Rung said, serene and calm as ever.Minimus did.- - -Or, Minimus frags the Magnus armor, but this time Rung is there.
Relationships: Minimus Ambus/Rung, Minimus Ambus/Ultra Magnus
Series: (with you) i got to get bolder [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726693
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55





	denying what you want from me (talk to me baby)

**Author's Note:**

> take me to the farm and let me be free, this has developed some semblance of a plot underneath my nose.
> 
> title is from 'cut to the feeling' by carly rae jepsen.

“Minimus,” Rung said, soft surprise coloring his tone.

Minimus did his best not to flush as he looked up at Rung. He wasn’t sure...he wasn’t sure, “Thank you for coming.”

“It’s nice to see _you_ ,” Rung was ever talented at stressing his glyphs in a way that wasn’t obvious, but Minimus could still hear them.

Minimus did flush.

“I— It felt—” Minimus cycled his intake, “Appropriate?”

“I do enjoy seeing you in any form,” Rung said, then flushed himself. Minimus couldn’t respond. Rung coughed, “Er, that is, you’re appropriate at all times.”

“Thank you,” Minimus mumbled.

They stood in silence for a few moments. Minimus studied Rung’s knee joints carefully. They looked rather stiff, perhaps some rust microbes. Minimus’s digits itched to oil them. Rung played a sound of a throat clearing, “I feel that I should once again state that I’m not here in a strictly professional interest.”

Minimus’s spark cycled faster, “Of course.”

“Not to say this is entirely personal,” Rung rushes to finish. 

“Of course,” Minimus nodded, and finally had the presence of processor to step back and allow Rung fully into his hab. Rung didn't brush past him to explore, although Minimus could see he optics sweeping over everything in sight and eventually settling right back on Minimus. 

“Would you like to discuss anything further?” Rung asked, his gaze unerringly wobbling Minimus’s spark cycle. There was something about the...the _attention_ that Minimus couldn't quantify. 

“I— No— Should I?” Minimus dropped his optics once again to Rung’s knee joints. 

“Entirely up to you,” Rung said, “I was only checking. We can go right ahead whenever you're ready.”

“Right,” Minimus turned to face the armor. He felt entirely ridiculous. The Magnus armor sat inert as it always did, nothing appealing or intimidating about it. It was a lump of metal. 

Minimus winced as the thought lanced against an old processing patch and threw a cascade of painful errors across his sensor net. He felt his lip plate twitch. 

“What was that?” Rung’s voice was...urgent. Minimus darted his optics back to Rung and found his servo hovering between the two of them, as if he had reached out to touch Minimus’s lip plate and thought better of it. 

“Nothing,” Minimus assured quickly, fighting the urge to itch at his helm. It was nothing. He was fine. He turned back to the armor and bit his lip plate.

“Is there something you usually do before interface?” Rung asked slowly, his voice thoughtful as ever. Minimus tried to let it soothe his rattled plating, “You mentioned feeling...disconnected. I’m wondering if there was something that brought you there.”

“I—” Minimus stopped, running his previous...incidents through his processor, “I’m usually performing my pre-recharge maintenance.”

“Ah,” A peculiar smile settled on Rung’s face, “Yes, I can see how that would be meditative. Why not give that a try?”

Minimus shifted his weight from pede to pede, feeling more than a bit ridiculous for his apprehension. It was pre-recharge maintenance. Just because no one but Tyrest or Dominus had ever seen him do it didn’t mean it was sacred or something. 

_Caring for your frame is of utmost importance._ Ah, yes, hello voice. _Your frame houses the spark that powers Ultra Magnus._

“I could wait outside,” Rung said, apparently reading his apprehension, “You could ping me when I should come back in.”

Minimus genuinely wasn’t sure which was worse, “Um—”

“What’s the first step of your maintenance?” Rung straightened up, just a tad. Enough to pull his shoulder joints back and highlight the transteel exposing his spark. 

“A rinse in the washracks,” Minimus said before he could process the text string.

“Get in the washrack,” Rung said, serene and calm as ever.

Minimus did. 

From there it was easier to shut down his frontal processing and coast on the secondary programming that carried him through his daily rituals. Rinse in the washracks. (Full wash on every third cycle.) Check reflexive materials. Diagnostic on hydraulic pressures. Run patching program. Denta maintenance.

Somewhere in the middle of the patch program’s execution, he wandered in front of the armor. It was unspeakably large when he was in his irreducible form. He had to crane his head back as far as his armor would allow to take it all in.

Did the size serve any purpose beyond intimidation?

_Who would take you seriously looking as you do now?_

Minimus reached a servo out and brushed his digits over the armor that rose up to protect the knee joint. He grabbed a hold as gingerly as he could. No use making marks that had to be explained away once the armor was back on.

Clambering onto its lap was always difficult in this form but Minimus wanted...he wanted.

In a haze he settled against the abdominal plating of the armor, pressing his face against the segmented metal and popping his wrist port panel. Sinking into the armor’s coding, even with the half measures, was a comfort. Minimus stayed there for several kliks, pressing the soft dermal metal of his face into the rigid armor, until the warmth and charge of the movement abruptly traveled to his array.

“Oh,” He looked down just as his panel retracted. His spike pressed forward now that his panel wasn’t restricting him, “Oh.”

He let his hips sink down, rolling against the closed panel of the armor. He wanted—

The armor’s panel transformed away and its spike pressurized slowly.

Minimus lifted up just enough so Magnus’s spike was under him rather than in front. It would be nice to have it between his legs, against his valve; all those nodes on top that he could rub against his spike—

“Minimus,” Rung said.

Minimus jumped, nearly unseating himself from Magnus’s lap. He turned just enough to catch sight of Rung, who he had somehow _forgotten was there_. For a moment his processor threatened to overwhelm itself with complete mortification, until he twisted enough to shift his hips and his spike brushed against one of the nodes on Magnus’s, shocking him with just enough charge to bring him back.

“Yes?” Minimus managed faintly, only just stopping himself from turning back around and getting to it.

“Please turn around and face me,” Rung was still...straighter somehow, taller even though he had sat down. Minimus studied him for a moment, but acquiesced. It was awkward, maneuvering around the armor’s spike without falling, but eventually he was situated once more.

He looked up at Rung. He wasn’t sure he liked the visual of the armor’s spike poking out from between his thighs in this direction. Rung’s face was peculiar.

“Is this—?” Minimus bit his lip. Perhaps he finally looked as silly as he felt. _What about you could be appealing?_

Rung visibly cycled his intake, “I suppose this is what you meant when you said you didn’t have a spike ‘like that’?”

“Oh,” Minimus did look back at his array. His spike didn’t pressurize or sheath like so many bots these days. It sat pressed out and downwards at the top of his valve mesh, as it always had, “Yes.”

Minimus reached down and pushed his spike between two digits. A shock of charge shivered up his backstrut. He heard Rung’s fans click on.

_A shameless display for someone so worthless._ Minimus flinched back against the voice, drawing his servo away. He fiddled with his wrist cable, “I— Can I—?”

He frowned. There he went, asking again. _You always did lack initiative, requiring your betters to— ._

“You may do as you wish,” Rung interrupted the voice. Minimus whipped his helm up to catch his optics, “I am merely here to observe.”

Minimus frowned down at the spike between his thighs. Right. He vented harshly and dropped his weight enough that his valve pressed against it. The low-level charge of the empty armor rocketed through his mesh and caught his vocalizer.

“Oh,” He mouthed, rolling his hips. His spike caught on a particularly prominent node closer to the base of Magnus’s spike, and Minimus’s hips shoved forward again, “Ah!”

He dropped forward, one servo on Magnus’s knee, the other curling under his spike and holding it steady for him to press against. Charge rose slowly as he dragged his spike and valve mesh against Magnus’s spike. Minimus offlined his optics and sunk into the feeling, trying to ignore how empty his valve felt, how good it would feel to be pressed open and full and it couldn’t hurt to try—

“Could you sit up, please?”

Minimus snapped his optics online, stilling completely. He looked up at Rung, who appeared just as shocked, “I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean— I’m only here to observe.”

Minimus felt a new lancet of charge through his wires at the way Rung’s optics were taking him in. He couldn’t name everything passing over Rung’s face, but he could certainly see the hunger. Rung...wanted?

_Anyone would want to see Ultra Magnus in action._

Minimus dropped the armor’s spike, pulling back until he was sat up straight, “Anything else?”

Rung’s mouth dropped open, just a little bit. Now that Minimus was paying attention, Rung’s fans were whirring softly, but quickly. His shoulders were still pulled back, transsteel window on display. Minimus let his optics continue to fall downward to Rung’s panel. 

Rung crossed his legs, “Could you move forward?”

“Yes,” Minimus said, sliding forward carefully until his knees were balanced on the armor’s. He sat back on his heels, the tip of the armor’s spike brushing against the very back of his valve mesh.

“You may move further back,” Rung said after a moment. Minimus shuffled back until the tip of the armor’s spike was between his thighs. Rung smiled, “Yes, that’s lovely.”

Minimus shivered from helm to pede, the glyphs hitting some part of his pleasure center and radiating out. 

_How lovely that spike looks, contrasted against your disappointing array._

Minimus ignored the voice, watching Rung, who leaned forward slightly, “Could you touch your spike? The way you did earlier?”

Minimus reached down and tried to grip the armor’s spike, trying to get a grasp and pull it against his valve. Rung clicked his glossa, “No, Minimus. Your spike.”

Minimus froze, “My—?”

Rung’s optics were both soft and utterly piercing, “Your spike. You like your spike, you told me so. I want you to show it off.”

Minimus felt his armor clatter as it tried to pull back against his protoform in defense and flare out to expel heat at the same time. No one had ever—

Well. Not no one. 

Minimus brought his servo down from where it had drawn back against his chassis at Rung’s rebuke for touching Magnus’s spike. He ignored how it shook as he slid his two primary digits on either side of his spike. A shaky vent escaped his frame.

He did like his spike, but it wasn’t often he touched it like this. Certainly not with anyone else present. Minimus kept his optics on Rung while he tentatively picked up a new rhythm, rolling forward and down into his digits, back and up to catch the tip of Magnus’s spike against his valve rim, a tease of the impossible.

Rung’s optics were clearly watching his array. Minimus felt his frame suffuse with heat and charge, Rung’s attention almost doing more than his movement. He whined, overload peeking over the horizon.

“Don’t move,” Rung ordered suddenly. Minimus froze, a louder whine from his engine.

“But—” Minimus gasped.

“Do not,” Rung stood, his vocalizer betraying the barest hint of static in his iron glyphs, “Move.”

Minimus didn’t. His valve clenched. His spike _ached_ , and Minimus could feel it pulsing between his digits. Rung moved closer, optics still on Minimus’s array, “Look at _you_.”

_Who would want to look at you?_

Minimus choked back a sob.

Rung’s optics flickered to his face and back down to his array. Minimus knew without a doubt that his spike was visibly throbbing. Rung crossed his arms over his chest, “Are you close to overload?”

“Y-yes,” Minimus ground out. His frame shook with the effort of keeping himself still.

“You’re absolutely lovely like this,” Rung twitched forward strangely, like he wanted to reach out, but his servos buried themselves under his arms.

Minimus sobbed, everything in him dizzy. He didn’t want to overload. He wanted to hang in limbo forever, Rung looking at him like that.

_You don’t deserve it._

Minimus sobbed again, a patch over his pleasure center that he hadn’t known was there flooded his system, tipping him into overload. His valve clenched painfully and his spike jumped between his digits with each new wave. He kept his optics on Rung’s face, which cycled through a brief flash of disappointment, shock, and settled on confusion.

Minimus didn’t move the entire time.

His fans whistled and his frame heaved, doing everything in its power to move cool air over his heated circuits. Minimus vented slowly. Something in the back of his processor gave the armor the commands to stow its spike, and he finally moved again to disconnect his cable.

Minimus snapped his panels shut. His optics were still on Rung, “I need to perform my denta maintenance.”

Rung stared back at him, features betraying nothing but confusion. He extricated his servos from under his arm, holding one out, “I— Of course. Let me help you down.”

_Poor, small, Minimus Ambus. Can’t descend from your throne alone._

Minimus flinched. Ah, that had been particularly Rewind toned. He hadn’t remembered overhearing that fight.

Rung retracted his servo at his flinch, “Or, I could see myself out.”

Minimus shook his head, “No, it’s— I’m sorry. I would appreciate the help.”

Minimus’s fans stuttered when Rung’s digits connected with his plating. Rung’s shoulders were rolled forward again. Minimus couldn’t describe why being steady on his pedes again felt like a loss.

“Thank you, Minimus,” Rung said softly. Minimus listened to his fans whirr, still at a steady high speed, “That was enlightening.”

Minimus felt the patch program wrap up. He dropped his optics to Rung’s knees. Rust microbes.

“Perhaps we could do this again,” Minimus choked out before he could second guess himself.

_When has rash action ever achieved anything good?_

The voice was furious. Rung’s voice was soft, “Perhaps we should drop the professional guise.”

_Right now_ , Minimus thought back fiercely.

The voice was quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me about robots on twitter [@floralpunkcfb](https://twitter.com/floralpunkcfb)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Burst at the seams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339091) by [towards_morning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/towards_morning/pseuds/towards_morning)




End file.
